


Room in Tokyo

by carxies



Series: I'm still only a human [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Caretaking, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, this sound angsty but it's just kenma being scared of what will happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carxies/pseuds/carxies
Summary: Kuroo craves to say it while he can. Kenma doesn't want to hear it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreckledYamaguchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledYamaguchi/gifts).



There’s a room in Tokyo, in the last house of the street. It is warm and full of mostly useless things, old photos with young faces hanging on the walls and posters that had fallen down too many times, the ripped corners of the paper covered by layers of duct tape. It’s been hiding secrets of its owner, some better and some worse, for more than 17 years now. Like the little box under the bed. Toys are stocked there, toys that are no longer any use for the almost grown up man, but he’s never had the heart to throw them away. The hole burned into the carpet during his first and last attempt on smoking, temped by bad friends, is masked by the leg of the bed. The suit jacket his father has looked for countless amounts of times is stuffed in the back of the closet along with clothing that doesn’t fit him ever since he took his middle school uniform off. All the books that are hard to understand for most high school students are on the shelf behind the collection of manga and stupid magazines, just not to look like a ‘nerd’.

 

That’s the kind of person that Kuroo is.

 

Kenma swings his legs as he looks around, his gaze wandering over the walls while his friend dries his hair with the softest towel the family owns (he always gives Kenma only the softest one). He is scolding him for walking in the rain without an umbrella, without a jacket even. _It’s only few metres_ , Kenma replies. It should be weird, sitting on someone else’s bed and letting them do such intimate act. It should be uncomfortable, at least a little, feeling the fingers massaging his head. It isn’t, not exactly.

 

“And here I thought you came to help me, _not worry me_ ,” Kuroo mutters. He then grabs a hairbrush and with the gentlest strokes untangles all the knots he’s made with the towel. Kenma lets him, without a fight, wordlessly. “I wanted to tell you something when you’re finally here-“

 

“Don’t.”

 

Kenma turns his head up just in time to see the crestfallen expression on his friend’s face. He craves to say it, Kenma knows. His time is running out, the clock ticking still, ticking away the time he can consider their last day together. Kenma doesn’t want to hear it. He expects the man to continue, but he doesn’t. He nods and lets the words sink deep into his throat. He always takes Kenma’s wishes as orders; that’s the kind of person that Kuroo is.

 

“All done,” he says lightly, with a smile, like the sentence ten seconds ago was never spoken out and Kenma never rejected it. His warm hand caresses the side of Kenma’s face and then it’s gone.

 

Kenma sits in the middle of the bed, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as Kuroo slips the thick socks on his feet – his feet tend to get cold, Kuroo knows. Kenma wonders if this is normal, if it’s not just him letting his best friend take care of him like they said their ‘I do’ years ago. Perhaps if it was someone else, someone who doesn’t have Kuroo’s caring face and gentle hands, Kenma would mind. However, this is Kuroo. The man who always lends Kenma his hoodie when Kenma gets cold during the cool days. (Kenma is aware of the fact Kuroo carries his hoodies around only because of Kenma; Kuroo rarely is cold, even in winter). No, he doesn’t mind if it’s Kuroo. He feels loved.

 

He doesn’t want to hear it.

 

He almost misses Kuroo leaving the room, but then he enters with the first box, still empty, giving Kenma the false hope which he should let go, for himself, for Kuroo.

 

“I will start with your clothes,” Kenma announces and jumps off the bed. He grabs the box out of Kuroo’s arms and for a moment, he considers running back outside, in the rain. He would get wet again and Kuroo would be mad, probably, but the box would be ruined, _ruined_ and not able to be _used_.

 

It’s a silly thought.

 

He sits on the floor in front of the closet, the box next to him. He first picks up Kuroo’s shirts. The one he had when they went to the restaurant near school for the first time. Kuroo lead Kenma to the table, walking ahead of him but still close enough so Kenma could tug on his sleeve when they were passing a bigger group of people. He ordered for both of them, automatically, he didn’t need to hear Kenma ask him. He knew what Kenma wanted without a single question. That’s the kind of person that Kuroo is.

 

He folds the shirt, much neater than Kuroo ever does, and places it in the box, the first tear slipping down his cheek. Next one is the shirt Kuroo wore when he came to visit sick Kenma. He brought him his favourite pie and after Kenma had fallen asleep, he put his phone and game console in the chargers. He folds another shirt, a ridiculous one, but Kuroo loves it because it’s a gift from Bokuto.

 

A shirt that Kuroo wore when they went shopping school supplies together. Kenma liked a pen with tiny kittens on it and Kuroo bought it for him, not accepting any complains or the offered money.

 

A shirt with a stain on it; Kenma’s cola to be exact. Kuroo didn’t get mad that his shirt was ruined. Instead, he asked a million times if Kenma’s ankle is okay. For some reason, he kept the shirt and sleeps in it sometimes.

 

By the time Kenma has finished the pile of shirts, his heart is broken and his hands betray him. They tremble too much for him to do anything with them. It’s stupid, really. He is supposed to be here for Kuroo. He can’t let Kuroo see. However, the thing with Kuroo is –

 

He notices. He always does, after all. He is next to Kenma in matter of seconds, the concern doing nothing good for his otherwise pretty face.

 

“Hey, _hey_ , are you okay?”

 

Kenma is ready to nod and move on when Kuroo leans closer, cupping Kenma’s cheek so gently he isn’t sure if he’s not simply imagining it, just like all the glances, like the words Kuroo is about to say. He feels small, smaller than usual, when Kuroo, the strong, tall Kuroo, is gazing down on him, not quite sure what’s going on. Kenma isn’t sure either.

 

“Kenma, just let me-“

“Don’t,” he breathes out and uses his sleeve to rub his face, turning away from his best friend.

 

Kuroo doesn’t say it out loud. He hands Kenma a tissue and pretends not to see the tears Kenma wipes away before they fall back in the quiet routine of packing.

 

 

There’s a room in Tokyo, in the last house of the street. Currently, it is a mess, ugly boxes sitting in the middle of it. It’s still raining outside, the droplets hitting the window the only sound filling the silence inside. Sometimes the air there is too thick for Kenma to breathe – he doesn’t know why.

 

They sit on the bed, plates on their laps and mouths too full to speak. Kenma likes it that way, even though he’s smothering with every another bite of the delicious food from Kuroo’s mother. His gaze stops at the old poster for some festival that Kuroo wanted to attend two months ago. He had begged Kenma, many times, but Kenma didn’t agree to accompany his friend, the large crowds too troublesome for him. Kuroo didn’t go either.

 

He wonders if Kuroo was disappointed; mad even. He probably spent the day of the festival with Kenma, in the silence they created when they tried to ignore the growing uncertainty surrounding them. Kuroo didn’t complain and he wouldn’t even if Kenma brought the festival up. That’s the kind of person that Kuroo is.

 

Sometimes, Kenma wishes he would. Wished Kuroo would speak up for himself, would get mad at Kenma when he has the right to. And small part of him, the tiniest one, wishes he would stop listening to Kenma and said those words out loud.

 

He doesn’t.

 

 

**

 

It is long past the sunset when Kenma sneaks out of the warm embrace reserved for him and him only. Kuroo never sleeps well; he always tosses around and kicks his long legs in the air, but when he is held, gently and yet strongly, he is much calmer. Kenma hopes he will find someone who will hold him like that every night so Kuroo sleeps fine.

 

Kuroo wakes up when he’s opening the door, almost gone safely. It doesn’t take long until his sleepy eyes find Kenma’s wide ones in the darkness; they’re always watching each other, after all. Kenma promised to stay, _stay tonight_ , but the clock has ticked away 1 am and it’s a brand new day, one where Kenma made no promises he can’t keep anyway. Kuroo realises this all too quickly.

 

“Just let me say it,” he whispers, his tone desperate and so, _so_ sad.

“Please don’t.”

“Let me say it!” Kuroo tries again, louder and more desperate. He is panicking now, but so is Kenma. “Let me say it along with goodbye! Just-“

 

“I don’t want to hear it,” Kenma cuts him off and runs off in the cold night, only in his hoodie and the smell of Kuroo all over him. It doesn’t wash off and Kenma goes to his own bed with his skin red and burning from the shower.

 

He can’t lose what he can’t hold, he tells himself.

 

 

**

 

Kuroo accepts the gift with a gentle smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his tired eyes. “Thank you.”

 

Kenma nods and picks another box, following Kuroo outside where his dad’s car is waiting to take him and all that’s his away, far from his room and from Kenma. It is strange to think he won’t be able to see him every day. When they will meet again, _Kenma knows they will_ , Kuroo will be older and Kenma won’t be able to say that he’s aging right before his eyes like he’s done until now.

 

“Say it,” Kenma blurts out before he can stop himself, before he can think about this logically. He just really wants to hear it.

 

Kuroo turns to him and almost drops the box in his arms, but he recovers quickly. He always does; that’s the kind of person that Kuroo is.

 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kenma replies.

 

 

There’s a room in Tokyo, in the last house of the street, has become cold and empty. Not even the morning sun can warm it up. It hides many secrets, old toys and stolen things, but it’s not that room where it ends and begins. It’s a street in Tokyo, usually calm expect for few kids playing around and two boys finally saying what they were too afraid to hear for years they can’t take back.


End file.
